


Buzzed

by pip_girl_111



Series: Courteous [2]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Arthur Gets a Haircut, Beginning of an OT3, F/M, Haircut Smut, Open Relationships, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, porn with a little plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-08-14 12:56:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8014852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pip_girl_111/pseuds/pip_girl_111
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur Maxson has been having his hair cut by Scribe Alanna Brannon for four years, but with the input of Grace Morgan (Sole Survivor) he realises that he wants much more from Brannon than just a haircut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Buzzed

**Author's Note:**

> So tess1978 posted [this little drabble on tumblr](http://tessa1978.tumblr.com/post/141164654717/maxsons-hair) about Maxson having his hair cut. I know a few people have had a go at this and I couldn't resist putting my own spin on it.

"Ingram's not having much luck with the teleporter then?" Grace asked, rolling the baseball from Arthur's bookshelf around in her fingers. 

"Proctor Ingram is having plenty of luck with the teleporter, _you_ just have no patience." He tapped more aggressively at the keyboard of his terminal as Grace began throwing the ball at the wall and trying to catch it one handed. 

"I have plenty of patience - shit," she paused to collect the ball from by Arthur's feet were it seemed to instinctively roll when she'd dropped it. She went back to throwing at the wall, the clanging seeming to echo louder with each throw, "I have _SO_ much patience, but I'm so close to finding Shaun." 

Arthur stopped typing and turned to her, "I know. And I know it must be difficult for you to pass on responsibility, but Ingram is doing her best, and she's doing well. So please try and relax. And stop. Throwing. That. Ball." Grace held onto it for a second, allowing Arthur chance to turn his attention back to his terminal before she started throwing it again. "Knight Morgan, that was an order." 

Grace smirked, continuing to throw the ball as she kept eye contact with Arthur. Whenever they were alone decorum and order were forgotten, and winding Arthur up had become one of Grace's favourite pastimes, especially as it seemed to end in her being fucked over the desk, or the table, or a pile of crates in storage area of the Prydwen. Grace had eye'd up the couch for today. 

"GRACE!" Arthur bellowed, pushing himself briskly up from the desk and grabbing her wrist. "I told -" A knock at the door cut him off and he called for whoever it was to enter. 

As Scribe Brannon walked through the door Arthur quickly moved away from Grace, clasping his hands behind his back before he addressed the woman in front of him. "Scribe Brannon, I wasn't expecting you back so soon." He tried to keep his voice low and commanding but he knew the words had betrayed him by the smug look on Grace's face. 

"Everything went better than we planned Elder Maxson," Brannon replied. 

Arthur cleared his throat and purposefully lowered his voice when he spoke again, "that's good to hear Scribe." A stifled laugh from Grace forced a blush across his face and he dropped the tone change. "Is there something you needed Scribe?" 

"No Sir, I was just wondering whether you needed your hair cut?" 

Arthur felt Grace stiffen beside him as she desperately tried to keep herself from laughing. 

"Yes, that... that would be fantastic Scribe," he replied. 

"Is now okay Sir?" 

He looked to Grace, who simply raised her eyebrows to indicate she'd leave him to it. "Yes, now is fine," he replied. 

"I'll just get my things," Brannon said, a small smile ghosting across her features. The second she left the room Arthur turned to Grace. 

"Don't even -" 

"You have your own hairdresser!" Grace cackled, dodging out of the way of Arthur who had taken a step towards her. 

"Grace, lower your voice!" 

"Sorry, but, God Arthur, your own personal hairdresser. Is _she_ what you do when I'm not here?" 

"Yes Grace, while you're out fucking your way through the Commonwealth, I have my hair cut." Grace smirked, Arthur ignored her choice of words. 

"That's all you do? Have your hair cut?" 

"I know what you're really asking, and no. All she does is cut my hair. She is a Scribe and I'm the Elder." 

"That doesn't stop you when it comes to me." 

"Grace, the relationship you and I have is an exception, _not_ an example." 

"Well I think Alanna would be up for it..." Grace mumbled placing the baseball back on the shelf. Arthur glared at her. "Scribe Brannon? Alanna is her first name. Jeez if you're going to fuck her you should at least learn her first name." 

"I know her name, but I am not going to - " Another knock cut Arthur short again.

"I'll get it, I'm going now anyway, leave you to your haircut," Grace smirked. Before she opened the door she turned back to Arthur, "don't do anything I wouldn't do," she said with a wink, flinging the door open to reveal Scribe Brannon, who she nodded to before sauntering down the corridor. 

Arthur didn't reply, turning his attention now to Scribe Brannon who was setting down her leather case of tools on the table. 

"I'm not interrupting anything am I?" she asked, tentatively unclasping the buckle on the bag. 

"No. Nothing at all," he mumbled as he pulled of his jumpsuit off his torso and tied it around his waist. It was part of their routine now, Arthur would strip as Scribe Brannon selected the tools from her bag and placed them neatly on the table, then she'd position a chair where there was enough light and Arthur would sit, his head leant back over the basin, waiting for her to drape a towel around his shoulders so she could begin wetting his hair with warm water. 

There was nothing different today; except for the fact that Arthur noticed Scribe Brannon's gaze lingering over his body, and found himself puffing out his chest and strutting towards the chair. That was new. Or maybe it was just because of Grace's comment; _I think she'd be up for it_ , that caused him to - for the first time - really notice everything about Scribe Brannon. 

As she rinsed his hair he thought back to the first time they'd met. He'd only recently been made Elder and she was one of the first Initiates he had brought into the Brotherhood. He remembered them all stood in a line, and how she'd stood out; every strand of her thick ginger hair perfect, her face and clothes spotless and she held her demeanor more graceful than anyone Arthur had ever seen. 

"What did you do before you found the Brotherhood?" Was the first thing he'd said to her.

"I cut hair," she'd replied not fazed with speaking to the Elder of the Brotherhood. 

"How old are you?" He'd asked next. 

"Sixteen." He remembered that he'd smiled, replied with a quick _"me too"_ and then asked whether she'd cut his hair. For the next four years they'd met up every other week so she could touch up his locks, something which had now become a point of near obsession for Arthur. 

She finished washing his hair and moved to stand in front of him, running her fingers through the longer hair on top of his head before grabbing a pair of scizzors and a comb from the table. They rarely exchanged more than a few words during their meetings, Arthur preferring to focus on the quiet snips of the scizzors and the feeling of gentle fingers on his scalp, but this time he could hear nothing over the rush of blood in his ears and as Brannon moved in front of him, testing the symmetry of her cutting, his focus was entirely on her face. 

A smattering of light freckles spread across her nose and the tops of her cheeks, and she nibbled at her bottom lip as she concentrated. Just as Arthur was wondering what it would feel like caught between his own teeth, her pale blue eyes met his and she lingered there for a moment before moving to the table again to swap the scizzors for a razor. 

"So, you know Gra - Knight Morgan pretty well then?" Brannon asked, her voice a little more strained than usual. 

"Yes. We -" _fuck more often than you cut my hair_ "-we do seem to get on quite well." 

"She's something else..." Brannon blew out a puff of air, "I would say it's because she's from before the war, but I doubt that has anything to do with it. I think people would have thought exactly the same about her then. She's a good soldier though, she's taught me a lot about being in the field." 

She seemed to be rambling - trying to fill the silence that engulfed the room - but Arthur had nothing to say back. He was nervous, and all he could picture was pulling Scribe Brannon onto his lap and showing her exactly what Grace had taught him. Luckily it didn't take long for Brannon's deft fingers to cut the sides of his hair and before he knew it she was brushing the little strands of hair away from his neck. 

"In fact Grace - Knight Morgan - made this." She pulled out a small bottle of oil from her pack which Arthur recognized immediately. "You wanna try it out?" 

Arthur choked on his inhaled breath and barely managed to splutter out an 'excuse me?' before Scribe Brannon added "It's a massage oil, so I can get the knots out of your neck..." 

It seemed that Grace's famous lube had more than one purpose. 

Arthur just nodded and leaned his head forwards to expose his neck, not trusting coherent words to leave his mouth. As Brannon's nimble fingers pressed at his muscles Arthur felt a pressure begin to build between his legs and slyly moved his hands to cover is obvious erection. He wasn't sure whether the smell of the oil was triggering a Pavlovian response, or if it was the feel of Brannon's fingers on his skin - but something had definitely changed; the relationship between himself and Brannon had shifted and he cursed himself for letting it get this far - who would cut his hair if he couldn't be around Brannon? 

\------------------------------------ 

Arthur managed to postpone his next haircut for nearly a month, but by that point it had become unruly; the thick locks curling at the ends, refusing to stay slicked back from his face. His beard was also out of control, having not been trimmed for well over a month. 

Scribe Brannon worked in silence - as usual - and Arthur focussed on nothing other than the steel wall in front of him. After forty-five minutes he began to get impatient and was struggling to control himself. 

"Are we nearly finished here?" he snapped, more forceful than he'd intended. 

It didn't faze Brannon, "no because you kept putting this off and you haven't been looking after yourself." 

It took another fifteen minutes before she'd finished everything. 

"I won't bother giving you a massage, seeing as you're so impatient to get this over and done with." She placed all her equipment back into her bag and hoisted it off the table. "You can get back to being Elder now," she said, finally leaving Arthur to himself. 

He barely waited for the door to latch before he shucked his jumpsuit all the way off and took his cock in his hand, roughly pumping it to thoughts of Brannon's lips wrapped around him. 

\----------------------------------------------- 

He increased his haircuts to once a week after that, preferring to see her more frequently for less time than having to endure an hour of trying to subdue his traitorous cock; he was able to enjoy his twenty minute now as Brannon spent the majority of the time out of his sight rubbing his neck. But after three weeks Brannon challenged him. 

"Sir, I have a question," she stated, her fingers still massaging the tense muscles along his neck. 

Arthur hummed in response, too relaxed to urge her on with words. 

"I've been cutting your hair every two weeks for four years. Why have you suddenly started getting me in here once a week when there's no need?" 

"Because the less time I have to spend with your hands on me the better," he drawled, the words slipping involuntarily from his lips. 

Brannon froze, whipping her hands away and Arthur shot up in his chair. 

"No, no, Scribe Brannon I didn't mean to say that. That's not what I meant." He could feel his cheeks burning in embarrassment, "what I meant was that I'm your superior and it's... it's -" 

"Do you want me to go Elder?" Scribe Brannon asked, cutting off his ramblings. 

"NO! Let me finish. What I meant to say was that I'm finding it difficult to just sit on that chair and let you cut my hair and massage my neck... I just, it's difficult because of certain...reasons..." He finally trailed off and watched as Brannon flushed bright red, the meaning of his words finally sinking in. She took a moment before speaking again. 

"Well I'm finished now anyway, so I should go. Ad Victoriam Elder." She snatched her bag from the table and rushed out of the room without giving Arthur a chance to reply. 

\----------------------------------------- 

Arthur didn’t expect Brannon to return and he'd avoided her at all costs. Grace had relentlessly mocked him when he told her what had happened but, nonetheless, had offered to try and correct it for him. He'd declined.

He sat now, alone in his quarters running a hand through his messy hair. Brannon would normally be here by now, she'd probably be trimming the sides of his head, her fingers stroking gently across his scalp. His hand drifted between his legs and he palmed himself through his jumpsuit, his mind drifting to Brannon and her nimble fingers. 

A sharp knock at the door ripped him from his fantasies and he jumped from his chair, choosing to walk to the door to give himself time to compose himself before letting whoever it was into his quarters. He opened the door to find Scribe Brannon stood the other side. 

"Grace said I should come and see you," she said, her voice low. 

"She can never leave things alone can she?" He muttered, more to himself than Brannon, as he ushered into his room. "I apologise for the other day Scribe, what I said was out of order and incredibly unprofessional, you are an asset to the Brotherhood and someone I feel I can trust, and I should never have jeopardised that because of... certain urges." 

She smiled at his word choice and set her bag on the table before turning to look at him. "Are you going to strip down, or do you not want me to cut your hair?" 

Arthur stood dumbfounded for a moment before tugging his jumpsuit to his hips and setting himself down on the chair Brannon had moved. 

"What did Gra – Knight Morgan, say to you?" He asked the question, not knowing entirely if he wanted to know the answer. 

"She said a lot of things." Brannon worked slowly and deliberately, exaggerating her movements through Arthur's hair, her hands lingering on him longer than necessary. "She told me about you and her -" 

"For the love of-" 

"I'm not going to tell anyone Arthur. She spoke to me a bit about you, about what you'd said had happened last week, we spoke about lots of things..." 

He almost missed her calling him by his name, but it caused a heat to surge through him and he struggled to keep himself from grinning. She quickly trimmed his hair and styled it before oiling up her hands to begin massaging his shoulders. 

She spent a lot of time at the base his neck, working out the stiffness that plagued his muscles. Once he was relaxed, her hands began to trail down his arms, spreading the oil across his biceps, before working back up to rub over his chest. Arthur let out a quiet moan as she pushed across his pecs but was enjoying the attention too much to feel embarrassed. She continued for a little while before leaning close to his ear. 

"Your half an hour is up Elder," she whispered, her warm breath sending a shiver down Arthur's spine. She stepped away from him to pack away her equipment and made to leave the room until next week. This is it, Arthur thought; he knew that if Grace had spoken to her, she was here because she wanted the same thing he did. 

"Alanna," he called out, the use of her first name causing her to spin back towards him. He took her wrist in his hand and gently tugged her towards him. She stumbled at the sudden jerk, and he caught her around the waist, guiding her across his lap. 

Arthur paused, their noses close to touching, before tentatively leaning closer and brushing his lips against hers. The soft moan she let out at the contact spurred Arthur on. His hands travelled from her waist to her hips, revealing in the feel of the lean muscles beneath his fingers as he deepened the kiss. Stroking his tongue across her bottom lip she opened her mouth and sunk her hips down against his, rolling against his now stiff cock and eliciting a low growl from Arthur's throat. They continued like this, both of them enjoying the feel of the other pressed against them, until Alanna laced her fingers through his hair and tugged roughly, forcing Arthur's head back so that she could attack his neck with her teeth and lips. 

"Did Grace tell you about that, hmmmm, that little trick?" he murmured as she rolled her hips against him with more force and chuckled against his neck. 

"She did mention about you liking your hair pulled... but I already knew that." She ran her fingers through his hair again - mimicking how she cut his hair – and sucked a deep purple bruise just below his jaw. Arthur scoffed and stood up, Alanna instinctively wrapping her slender legs tightly around his waist as he carried her to the bed. He lay her down carefully, lining her head with the pillow, her red hair pooling around her, before moving himself between her legs. 

"What else did she tell you?" 

"She said you liked being ordered around, told what to do..." Alanna smiled sweetly up at him as the colour drained from his face. "That's not quite my thing though _Elder_ , so I'll leave that to Knight Morgan." 

She chuckled again as he nodded, slowly regaining his posture, and untied the arms of his jumpsuit from around his waist. He slid his hands up the plane of her stomach, bunching her jumper and vest up as he went and when she lifted herself off the bed, he pulled the garments quickly off her and threw them behind him, taking a moment to admire her naked torso. 

Alanna blushed slightly under his gaze and made to cover her breasts with her arms, but Arthur caught them and guided them gently back to the bed, his fingers drawing lazy patterns along them as he did. 

"Don't. Don't be self conscious," he said, his fingers moving to her hair. 

"This is just so...weird," she replied, an embarrassed smile spreading across her face. "I mean, you're Elder Maxson, and it's just -" 

"We can stop if you'd like?" He interjected, his heart thumping in his chest as he wondered whether she'd actually leave. 

"No, God no! Just take this off," she gestured to his jumpsuit still resting on his hips, "and I'm sure I'll get over it." He smirked in reply and quickly forced his jumpsuit and underwear down his legs, kicking them, and his boots, in to the growing pile of discarded clothes. 

"Better?" he joked 

"Mmhmm," she mumbled not able to tear her gaze away from his cock. 

She pulled him by his hands towards her and he shifted over her body, placing a hand beside her head to keep from crushing her. Alanna's hands ran up his sides, coming to rest on the back of his neck where she tickled the delicate skin. Arthur leant his forehead against hers as he fiddled with the button on her trousers, eventually popping it open and pushing it awkwardly down her legs. 

As his fingers ghosted over her clit, she let out a soft whimper and pressed her mouth back against his, and when he delicately pushed a finger into her, she pulled him closer and kissed him harder; their tongues clashing gracelessly against each other. Arthur pressed another finger into her, crooking them in an attempt to undo her. Her kisses became messier and she bucked against his hand, moaning. He dipped his head to her breast, lavishing the soft skin with kisses and gentle nips, drawing more desperate sounds from her throat. 

His cock ached with a need to be inside her and he shifted his weight in an awkward search for friction. 

"Wow, Arthur..." His thumb drifted to clit pushing frantic circles across it. "Fuck -" her voice was breathy and she threw her head back, eyes closed, and came with another cry of his name. 

He continued playing with her gently as she came down, pressing light kisses up her neck until they were face to face again. 

"Fuck me." The command was whispered and her warm breath tickled against Arthur's lips. He didn't answer - focusing too much on the woman lay beneath him - and nudged her legs apart allowing him room to move close to her and line himself against her. He directed himself into her carefully, watching her delicate mouth drop open and her back arch up from the bed. He groaned himself once he was fully seated inside her, and began moving his hips slowly, savoring the feeling of her wrapped around his cock. 

"Arthur, please... Fuck me" 

He growled at her sultry voice, unable to reply with words, and began thrusting into her with force. Arthur listened in adoration to the melody of whimpers and curses that spilled from Alanna, a blush spreading across her face and chest, highlighting her pert breasts and delicate nose. Arthur drank the sight in, committing every angle of her face, every gasped sound, to memory. 

He was close, pressure building in his core, but - never one to disappoint - he was determined to push her through another orgasm. He clumsily thumbed at her clit and sucked at the skin on her neck, forfeiting his view of her face for the feeling of her fluttering around his cock. Her back arched up to him, and his name - laced with a delicious moan - escaped her lips. As she sunk back onto the bed, Arthur let go; thrusting into her quicker and with more force, and as she tugged his hair sharply he came as well, barely managing to pull out to spill on the sheets. 

He collapsed breathlessly next to Alanna, his heart pounding in his chest. 

"That was -" his words failed him and a quiet knock at the door caused him to shoot upright grabbing desperately for the blanket. 

"It's only me, can I come in now?" 

Grace. 

"Yes," Arthur drawled, relief washing over him as he crashed back onto the bed. 

She strutted into the room and over to the bed. 

"You two have fun?" she asked, directing her question more at Alanna than Arthur, who laughed, propping herself onto her elbow so she could see Grace over the top of Arthur. 

"No real complaints," she replied with a smirk. 

"Did you take my advice? Pull his hair?" Grace reached down, running her hand across Arthur's scalp before making a fist, his hair laced between her fingers. He swatted her away and buried his face in his pillows as the two woman laughed. "I didn't just come here to see how you'd got on, I actually need to tell you something Arthur." 

He turned to face her, pointing at his clothes as a silent order for her to pass them to him. She tossed him his jumpsuit but no boxers and threw Alanna her vest and panties. 

When Arthur had dressed he stood up and gestured towards the table, "sit," he commanded. Grace followed without question. "Why do I have a feeling I'm not going to like this?" 

"Just promise you won't get angry?" 

"Grace?" 

"I have a witness and if you go too crazy she won't want to have sex with you again." Grace pointed to Alanna who was now sat propped up against the pillows laughing. 

"Grace! What is going on?" 

"Okay, fine. You know that broadcast that everyone keeps hearing for Nuka World?" Arthur stayed silent, his mouth pressed into a hard line. "The place that's overrun with raiders?" He kept quiet still, his gut wrenching at the realisation he knew what was coming. "Well... you can't go there." 

"And why is that _Knight Morgan_?" 

She paused for a second, glancing at Alanna before answering. "It's actually Overboss," she corrected quietly. Arthur's stomach felt like it had dropped through the bottom of the Prydwen and he heard Alanna gasp from the bed. "And you can't go there, because I run the place..."


End file.
